


...To Those Who Wait

by ashley_ingenious



Series: Good Things Come [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Sex, F/M, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-16 23:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7288333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashley_ingenious/pseuds/ashley_ingenious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You need to be careful, Stiles,” Lydia said slowly, like every word had been deliberated over, specifically chosen. </p><p>“I’m not doing anything, Lyds. It’s not…it’s fine, okay?” </p><p>She didn’t even dignify that with a response, just watched as he stumbled out of bed, moved to stand next to her. He didn’t like feeling towered over first thing in the morning. Lydia was scary enough at 5’3. She was terrifying with a height advantage. </p><p>“Just…be careful.” She repeated, eyes never leaving his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...To Those Who Wait

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so Good Things Come, the first thing in this series, was actually inspired by true events and I stopped it where I did because the response was so great and I didn't want to burst everybody's bubble by including the angsty part. 
> 
> But I've just felt like it was unfinished? So here's allllll the angst lol 
> 
> I hesitate to call it angst with a happy ending because there's a plot forming in my head so the ending is kind of open. 
> 
> Also I have no beta so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Alright I'm done talking enjoy!

 

Stiles blinked awake in Lydia’s sun drenched guest room. The bed was empty, Scott and Allison gone, their spaces cold. He wanted to pout, to feel put out that they’d left him here, but before he could work himself up to it, he noticed Lydia.

She was still in her robe, hair wild and cascading around her shoulders, gleaming like fire in the morning sun. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, lips pursed in a way that meant _somebody_ was getting a lecture. And Stiles was the only one in the room.

”No…..” he groaned out in defense, hands scrubbing over his face.

“You need to be careful, Stiles,” Lydia said slowly, like every word had been deliberated over, specifically chosen.

“I’m not _doing_ anything, Lyds. It’s not…it’s _fine_ , okay?”

She didn’t even dignify that with a response, just watched as he stumbled out of bed, moved to stand next to her. He didn’t like feeling towered over first thing in the morning. Lydia was scary enough at 5’3. She was terrifying with a height advantage.

“Just…be careful.” She repeated, eyes never leaving his.

And it wasn’t like he _didn’t_ know what she was talking about, like he _didn’t_ realize that this thing he and Scott and Allison were doing was unconventional. That there weren’t a million ways for it to go wrong.

So he nodded, and she nodded, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

“You’re an idiot, Stilinski,” she said, tone fond. “Now come eat breakfast.”

She sailed out of the room and he bounded along after her, hand running through his hair.

"Where’d they go, anyway?” He asked, not even trying for nonchalant. It was too early and Lydia was too observant.

She shrugged, not turning back to look at him. “No idea. I came in to lecture you about proper sex etiquette in a house full of werewolves and they were gone.”

Snuck out before anyone was awake to see, Stiles thought, huffing. He was going to go ahead and pretend that didn’t twist his stomach into knots.

Jackson was already in the kitchen when he got there, and he sneered at Stiles on sight.

“There are things about you that I never needed to know, Stilinski.” He said, mouth full of toast.

Scott and Allison sneaking out made a lot of sense. It still hurt but, he understood them wanting to avoid this. He just couldn’t figure out what happened to no man left behind.

“I’ve never needed to know anything about you,” he responded easily, moving to scoop some oatmeal into a bowl, “Yet here we are.”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m awesome.” Jackson snapped back.

“There is literally one person in the world who agrees with you on that, just so you know.”

“And who would that be?” Lydia piped up, lips pulling up into a smirk.

Stiles couldn’t help it, he choked out a laugh, and then Lydia was laughing too.

Jackson’s face was red where he was muttering into his food, but Stiles knew he knew it was all good natured. Since the big werewolf reveal, none of their barbs had really been all that sharp.

After scarfing down his food, Stiles said his goodbyes and made his way to the Jeep.

Once inside, Lydia’s house hidden behind the tall hedges her parents had planted for privacy, he looked at his phone.

No texts. So, they’d left and they hadn’t thought to say anything about it.

He opened his thread with Scott, fingers hovering over the keypad, but what could he _say_ really?

_Hey, we had awesome sex and you dipped out on me in the middle of the night, what’s up with that?_

The worst part was, that text wouldn’t have been terribly out of place in Scott and Stiles’ friendship, but the thought of sending it just made Stiles feel clingy. It’s not like either one of them owed him anything, it’s not like they were _together_ or anything. They’d just had sex once. One and a half times? And sure, maybe this time had ended differently from the first time (where they’d hung out and laughed and talked and ordered a pizza and watched more movies, and had generally all been super chill before parting ways), but it’s not like there were any _rules_ to this or anything. There was no contract stating they had to buy him pizza and consider his feelings after sex.

He’d just…kind of assumed, since they were friends, that they would.

Cursing, Stiles started the car. He turned the radio up too loud, trying to drown out his own thoughts, but he still misjudged the timing, switching his foot from clutch to gas, and Roscoe _grinded_ into first gear with a shudder. Stiles gritted his teeth in response to the sound, kept his jaw clenched tight the whole way home.

\--

At school on Monday, though, it was like it had never happened. Like none of it had ever happened. Scott and Allison were their own separate unit, glued together and held apart from everyone else. But they still laughed with Stiles, Scott still clapped him on the back and Allison’s eyes still sparkled at his jokes.

Maybe it had just gotten a little too weird. That was fine, obviously. Stiles had never wanted to mess anyone up. If they needed to take a step back that was….cool. Sure, it might have been easier for him if they’d had a conversation about it, maybe pulled him to the side before completely shutting him out of…

 _What_ , exactly? This wasn’t a relationship. Or, even worse, it _was_ a relationship, just not one Stiles was actually a part of. Scott and Allison had always been Scott and Allison, would always be Scott and Allison. Stiles was a cameo, a walk on role in the greatest love story of all time, his name billed last in the credits.

So, realistically, this was…fine. For them to go back to the way it was before all of this started. That was totally okay. As long as Scott and Allison were happy, Stiles was happy.

Stiles was _happy_.

Except…everything didn’t go back to the way it was before.

For example, that following Friday night, when Scott came over for Call of Duty, Allison was standing on the porch behind him, with a grocery bag full of snacks.

And what was Stiles supposed to do? He couldn’t _not_ let them in. He couldn’t whine and throw a fit about bro bonding with Allison _standing_ right there. So he just moved aside, opened the door for the pair of them. Tried to pretend this whole situation hadn’t gone strange and awkward as fuck.

Worse, still, without the audience of Beacon Hills High watching their every move, it was easy to see that they _weren’t_ happy. Allison seemed to only ever speak in clipped tones, and Scott’s responses were all tired, frustrated sighs and the whole thing made Stiles feel hot and uncomfortable.

“I can’t,” he said finally, throwing his controller down, watching his character die in a hail of bullets. “I can’t with this. What’s going on with you two?”

Scott turned to look at him, eyes wide. Allison’s head popped up from her magazine as well, glancing back and forth between them.

“Sorry, bro,” Scott began, “sorry. It’s nothing. It’s just…rough patch, you know?”

Allison snorted and went back to her magazine.

“Is it me?” Stiles asked, feeling insecure and small. “Is it my fault?”

“No!” Scott cried at the same time that Allison tossed her magazine onto the couch, and sunk down on the floor next to him.

“No, Stiles. It’s nothing you did. It’s just….we maybe weren’t ready to deal with the…consequences, I guess? Of having a third person involved with us.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Stiles said, looking back and forth between them. “I told you I didn’t want to mess you guys up. It wasn’t working, we stopped. It’s good now, right?”

“It’s…” Scott started, “I…”

“We want to do it again,” Allison blurted out, looking at Scott meaningfully. “One more time. Just…would you be okay with that? If we did it again?”

Stiles hesitated. Scott wasn’t making eye contact with anyone, was chewing on his bottom lip the way he did when he was nervous. After everything they’d done together, Stiles couldn’t figure out why he’d be nervous and Allison just looked… determined. Her eyes were fierce and her mouth was set in a grim line. None of it was sexy at all.

“Will it help?” He asked, “If we do it again? Will it fix whatever is going on here?”

Allison nodded, but Scott just kept looking at his hands in his lap, the TV, the flickering light bulb in the kitchen, anything but them.

“I guess?” Stiles said, shoulders sagging. He was at a loss, but he couldn’t help feeling like this whole thing was his fault, regardless of what they told him. And if this was going to fix it, he was sort of obligated to see it through, wasn’t he? Plus, it’s not like he was throwing himself on any grenades here. He always enjoyed it.

They were quiet as they made their way up the stairs to his bedroom. There was none of the nervous anticipation from the first time, none of the warm drunken camaraderie of the second. It was all very stiff, very quiet. Something was settling in the pit of Stiles’ stomach. It was dread, he realized. He felt like he was marching off to war.

Once inside the bedroom, Allison took charge immediately. Eyeing the pile of clothes on his bed, she picked it up quickly, moving them over to his desk chair, before starting to strip. There was always something sexy about Allison, even when she wasn’t trying she moved with a grace that permeated everything she did. She was always stunning to watch.

But this seemed clinical, efficient rather than fun. She stepped out of her leggings quickly, pulled a large, flowing sweater up and over her head, unclipped her bra, and shimmied out of her underwear without any of her normal flourish.

When she was done, she sat down on the bed and looked at the both of them.

Stiles heard Scott’s belt buckle clinking behind him, knew he was getting undressed as well. He paused, watching Allison watch Scott, before he started to undress himself. Soon they were all naked, Scott still in his boxers, but it didn’t feel anything like it had before. Stiles shifted his weight while Allison’s eyes darted back and forth between them. He knew she was deciding what position she wanted them in. This, at least, was familiar. Allison always decided.

What he wasn’t expecting was Scott’s frustrated grunt, for him to surge forward, meeting Allison on the bed. His hand came up to cup her chin, then moved down to cradle her throat, and he kissed her with more aggression that Stiles had ever seen from him.

Allison tumbled back, hitting the bedspread with a bounce, but Scott stayed with her, kissing her, whole hand around her neck now.

“What do you want?” He grunted when he came up for air. “What do you _want_?”

Stiles was stunned still, watching them. Scott’s dick was half hard, resting against Allison’s thigh but it wasn’t relevant. Sex had nothing to do with what was going on with them right now, Stiles realized with a jolt. This was something else entirely.

Scott’s fingers were flexing around Allison’s throat, like he wanted to squeeze, like he was just barely _stopping_ himself from squeezing.

“Guys,” he tried, voice sounding thin in the suddenly huge space of his bedroom, but the both stopped, both turned to look at him.

Allison broke first, sighing and pushing Scott off her. She was red where his hand had been, the long, pale column of her throat marred. Her breath was heavy, ragged.

Scott’s hand, the one that had been around Allison’s throat, clenched and unclenched, his lip lodged tight between his teeth again.

“Sorry,” Allison smiled up at him, breathless. “We can keep going, if that’s okay?”

Stiles just stood there for a moment, watching them. He didn’t think it was okay, he wasn’t sure that anything was okay right now.

“There’s still no pressure, Stiles. You don’t have to. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Scott spoke up, and Allison nodded beside him, moving so that she was pressed up against Scott’s back, dark hair spilling over their shoulders.

“I want to see him suck your dick,” she purred into Scott’s ear.

Stiles stared at them for a moment, rolling his shoulders. The Sheriff was working a double. They had the whole night to themselves. Whatever it is they needed to work through, tonight was the night to do it.

And Stiles _wanted_ to. His mouth watered at the suggestion, but he didn’t say anything. Just watched Scott’s eyes as they went hungry, and he nodded.

Stiles didn’t know how they kept ending up here, really. Didn’t know how this kept happening. But he slid down onto the floor, settling between Scott’s knees, their eyes locked.

“I’ve never done this before,” he murmured, reaching into his best friend’s boxers to pull his cock out.

It started to harden in his hand.

“I know,” Scott replied, smirking a little. Like he liked it, like it was his favorite thing in the world that no one has had ever touched Stiles the way he had.

Leaning down, Stiles ran his tongue over the head of Scott’s dick, delighting in his shiver.

He sucked the tip into his mouth, playing with the weight and texture of it on his tongue.

“Look at his mouth, “ Allison sighed, voice muffled where she’d pressed her face into Scott’s neck. “He was made for this, Scott, look at him.”

She looked better, more relaxed than she had. Maybe the choking had…worked? Stiles didn’t want to think about it.

Scott moaned and Stiles whimpered, something hot curling through his gut. He’d always been a talker but here, in bed, Scott and Allison spoke most. Stiles just…felt. And he liked it. Liked when Scott looked at him like he was the only thing in the world, or when Allison called him good.

But he was starting to think he might like it if Allison called him other things, too. And he didn’t know how to feel about that.

Especially today, on a day where Allison was in complete control. Scott kept telling him that she smelled hurt, or frustrated. Her parents had been arguing a lot and she more often than not found herself in the middle of them. She just needed to let off some steam, Scott had said.

And now Stiles was on his knees, his mind blank but of a steady kind of white noise, focused intently on how much of his best friend’ dick he could get in his mouth. Trying to go slow, be patient, when he just wanted to gag himself on it.

Scott curled a hand into his hair and Stiles took him a little deeper without thinking.

“Yeah,” Allison sighed, and then she was pulling Scott back by his shoulder until he was laid out flat across the bed. Without hesitating, she swung a leg over his head and sat down on his face.

Stiles could see her pert little ass as she started to move.

“Oh,” she whimpered, shuddering as she ground down on Scott’s mouth, “Oh shit.”

Stiles smiled around his mouthful, and tried to take Scott all the way down again. His tongue ran over a vein at the underside of Scott’s dicks and the wolf’s thighs started to tremble.

Stiles did it again. Stopped trying to get the whole length and focused on bobbing up and down, massaging that vein with his tongue.

The hand in his hair tightened and Stiles could her Scott’s muffled moaning into Allison’s pussy.

“Yesssss,” she hissed, rocking down on Scott’s mouth faster.

Scott put a hand on her hip to steady her, other hand coming out of Stiles’ hair, cupping his face. He was guiding Stiles’ now, pulling him down onto his dick and thrusting his hips up to meet him.

Allison’s moans grew louder, the rhythm of her hips less controlled and in moments she was coming, shuddering and grinding down against Scott’s face.

She lifted herself up gingerly, settled back against the pillows, and Scott immediately brought his other hand down to Stile’s head, holding it steady as he thrust his hips up until he was truly fucking Stiles’ face.

“Fuck Stiles.” Scott grunted from above him. “Fuckkkkk,”

He slowed down, started grinding in, the head of his cock kissing the back of Stiles’ throat as he worked his hips up.

Stiles moaned in response.

And then the base of his dick started to swell, the knot forming thick and terrifying behind Stiles’ teeth.

“Shit,” Scott whimpered, holding Stiles’ head steady when he tried to pull off.

‘Just…” he whined, “just…please…”

And he held him there, until there was nothing Stiles’ could do, until the knot was locked behind his teeth, and he couldn’t pull off without damaging both of them. Until his face was red and his eyes were watering and he was struggling to remember how to breathe.

“Through your nose,” Scott forced out through gritted teeth. “Breathe through your nose.” He sounded absolutely wrecked, sounded stretched thin like Stiles felt.

“Jesus Christ.”

Allison’s voice was like a bullet through glass. Like acid on parchment paper.

“You just…you just can’t help yourself, can you?” She said, scurrying off Stiles’ bed. “You just have to knot him, every time.”

She was gathering her clothes off the floor.

“Ally,” Scott said, sitting up on his elbows, “What…what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” She spun around to look at him, pulling a sweater over her head.

“I don’t even know how to answer that question, Scott.”

Panicked, Scott tried to pull away, but the knot hadn’t gone down enough, it pulled against his teeth and he groaned out in pain. He tasted blood on his tongue, couldn’t tell whether it was his or Scotts.

The wolf stopped trying to move.

“Allison!” He called out as she fled from the room.

“Allison could you just wait until—“ he was cut off by the door slamming downstairs.

Even Stiles could hear her car start up from outside his window, hear her tear away from the curb.

It was probably three minutes before the knot came down enough for Scott and Stiles to come apart.

It felt like hours.

When it did, Scott pulled away from Stiles like he’d been burned. Didn’t even look at him in his haste to put on his clothes, hopped into his shoes and was halfway down the stairs before he turned back, ran back up to look at Stiles. Stiles who was still on the floor, jaw and throat sore, teeth bleeding.

“You understand I’ve gotta…”

Stiles just shooed him with his hand, too stunned to speak.

Scott closed to door with less force than Allison had, but still didn’t take the time to lock it behind him.

Either way, Stiles was sitting on his bedroom floor, half naked and used, Scott and Allison gone like they had never came.

\--

He had just enough time to shower, throw on some clothes, and get good and well started on his pity party when Lydia showed up.

“I understand it’s a hard day,” she said as she breezed into his room, “but that’s absolutely no reason to keep your front door unlocked.”

“Hey,” he said, and God his voice was still hoarse, throat sore. He sounded fucked out and _so_ inappropriate for this situation.

Lydia sighed, sat down on the edge of the bed next to him. “I told you to be _careful_ , Stiles.” She said in measured tones, and it was patronizing, like she was talking to a child, but Stiles felt like a child just then. He couldn’t find it in him to be offended.

“I thought I _was_. They…they’re messed up. And it’s my fault. _I_ messed them up. They said this would fix it. I was just trying to fix it.”

Lydia shook her head. “You weren’t _thinking_. It’s impossible to be careful if you don’t _think_ , and use that big brain of yours. How can doing the same thing that messed it up, fix it?”

“I don’t know, Lyds! They seemed sure.”

They sat in silence for a while.

“How’d you even know to come over here?” Stiles asked after a while.

“Allison called me. She feels terrible. She realizes they’ve put you in an impossible position. And the whole threesome thing was her idea, so she’s convinced it’s her fault.”

“She’s mad about the knotting thing.”

“I would be too, if I were her.”

‘What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’ve been with Jackson for years. I brought him back from the edge. True love, all that. Easily as strong a bond as Scott and Allison. And Jackson’s never knotted me. I didn’t even know they were a real thing until Allison told me. If we were to invite a third party into the bedroom, and he were to knot _them_? I’d be devastated.”

Stiles thought for a moment. “But it’s not….you know that it’s not that Scott doesn’t love her.”

“Well how would you explain it then?”

Stiles shook his head. “I wouldn’t. And I shouldn’t fucking have to. It is not my job to explain werewolf biology. It’s Derek’s job,” he said, rising from the bed. “Why the hell didn’t Derek do it?”

Suddenly furious, he slipped on some shoes.

“Are you coming?” He asked Lydia, who was still sitting on his bed, looking at him like he’d grown two heads.

“No, I’ll let myself out, thank you. I don’t really feel the need to go on a suicide mission tonight.”

“The only person _dying_ is Derek,” Stiles muttered darkly.

He locked the door behind him.

\--

And that’s how Stiles found himself on Derek’s doorstep at one o clock in the morning. He’d just raised his hand to beat on the door (was prepared to really _beat_ it too, take out some of this ridiculous frustration on an inanimate object) when Derek slid it open.

“We’re closed for stupid questions,” he muttered, hair mussed like he’d been asleep, and it only served to make Stiles _more_ furious.

“Yeah, your definition of a stupid question is currently ruining my fucking life, so shut up and let me in.”

Derek’s eyebrows raised, but he stood aside, allowed Stiles to storm into the loft.

“Did Scott come here a few months ago and ask about knots?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Knots. Not like sailing or cub scouts or whatever. Werewolf knots. The massive kinds that form on your dick. Did he ask?”

Derek coughed. “Yes.”

“And you said?”

“I said it wasn’t his concern.”

‘And how is the massive knot that forms on his dick not his concern?”

“Because he’s not going to pop a knot any time soon.”

Stiles barked a laugh because that was just…

“What on earth makes you think that?”

“The timings not right. The circumstances aren’t right. Scott’s not going to knot _Allison,_ that’s not how it works.”

“How does it work?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Say Scott was in a threesome with Allison and, let’s just say, me. Just…as an example. Would he knot then? Is that how it works?”

The eyebrows jumped again, but Derek nodded slowly.

“If Scott was in any sort of sexual situation with you and Allison, he’d knot every time. Only you though. Not Allison.”

“Why not Allison?”

“Because…because she’s female. He’d get her pregnant. And he’s not settled. His wolf doesn’t have territory, he doesn’t trust his alpha. He’s not going to get a mate pregnant right now, that’s not how his instincts are going to work. Bringing a pup into an unstable environment, hell, even having a pregnant mate in an unstable environment is a bad plan.”

“So why would he knot me?”

“Because you’re his best friend. He trusts you. He can’t get you sick. He can’t get you pregnant. And with Allison there? He wouldn’t be able to stop it.”

“So I’m like…a surrogate for the knot? He knots me because he can’t knot Allison when he really wants to be knotting Allison?’

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t think this was any of his concern.”

“I try not to think about the kinky threesome possibilities of my high school aged betas, believe it or not.”

“Whether you want to think about it or not, sex ed is a legitimate conversation that adults have with kids younger than us all the fucking time Derek. Scott needs to know how his dick works. Hell, _Allison_ needs to know how Scott’s dick works. This thing is tearing people apart.”

“That’s what she said,” Isaac chuckled, materializing from the darkness at the corner of the room.

Stiles rounded on him, moving towards him quickly, hands clenched into fists. He didn’t know what Isaac saw in his eyes, what Derek smelled rolling off of him, but whatever it was, it was enough that Isaac stumbled back a step, eyes wide and hands up in surrender. Derek cursed and caught Stiles around the middle, dragging him back.

Flailing out of his grasp, Stiles turned to look at him again. “You are going to _fix this_ , Hale. I swear to God I will make your already miserable life _so much more miserable_.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It is terribly irresponsible to have an entire pack of hormonal teenagers with absolutely no idea how their reproductive organs work.”

Derek shrugged. “I didn’t bite Scott, he’s not my responsibility.”

“Oh shove it, Hale. He’s a beta in your territory. He’s your responsibility. Unless you’d like Peter to be an Alpha again? So you could pass the job off to him? You’re _so_ great at it.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

Derek grunted something that sounded like agreement.

“You’re going to fix it.” Stiles said again, for clarification.

“Yes, Stiles. I’ll talk to them.”

“Now.”

“No, not now. It’s one in the morning. We’ll do it tomorrow, when the suns up.”

“After they’ve already said horrible things to each other and ruined their relationship.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? _Their_ relationship? Stiles, you smell like a whorehouse. There’s still blood in your mouth. But you want me to, what, track down Scott and Allison to make sure they don’t jeopardize their forever love?”

Now it was Stiles’ turn to cross his arms over his chest, raise his eyebrows expectantly. “Yes. I’m the one who’s the most fucked up in this situation, so I decide what get’s fixed first. Scott and Allison get fixed first. And seeing that this whole thing is _entirely your fault_ , you’re going to fix them. “

“Look, kid, I didn’t put a gun to your head and make you fuck your best friend and his girlfriend.”

“You see me standing here, right? You see me standing here trying to fix this. This is me, owning up to the fact that I fucked up and trying to make it right. You know what I see you doing? Trying to push blame off on everybody else for the fact that _you_ were too much of a pussy to have a conversation with Scott about werewolf shit.”

“He does...kinda have a point there, Der.” Isaac chimed in, contributing absolutely nothing.

“Where exactly am I supposed to find Scott and Allison at this time of night?”

“I don’t _know_. Don’t you have some sort of wolfy tracking senses? Figure it out.”

Derek scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Fine. Fine, I’ll find them. I’ll explain. Just…get the hell out of my house, Stiles.”

Stiles snorted. “House,” he muttered, moving towards the door, “that’s fucking rich.”

\--

“So I….I really do love Allison.” Scott repeated, slowly, for at least the fourth time.

Derek nodded, looking all the world like he’d rather shoot himself in the face than have this conversation.

“But I’m scared I’ll get her pregnant, so I knot Stiles?”

Derek nodded again.

“Two people he loves most in the world,” Stiles says, quietly, for Allison, who’s been stiff beside Scott since Derek started talking. She looked up at him then, eyes glassy.

“It makes sense,” she murmured into Scott’s shoulder, and he nodded along with her.

“Is there any way we can….” Scott started, and Derek groaned.

“You shouldn’t be having sex. You’re minors. It shouldn’t be happening and I’m not giving you permission to do it.”

“Thank you deputy sheriff.” Stiles muttered, rolling his eyes.

“But,” Derek said, speaking over him, “if Allison is on reliable birth control, and you two use condoms, _every time_ , it should be fine. It will probably be a few times before Scott feels comfortable enough to…let go that way, though. Don’t expect it to happen overnight.”

Scott beamed, bouncing a little in his seat. “See, Ally? We can fix it. It’s fixed.” He grinned at her, and she smiled back just as bright.

Something settled in Stiles. It was fixed. He’d fixed his friends.

They cleared out a little while after that, left Stiles to preen on Derek’s couch.

“Are you happy now?” The Alpha asked him.

“Yes. Very. It’s fixed. I have resolved all issues. Everything is back to normal. Life is wonderful.”

“Great. Now get out of my house.”

“This piece of shit still isn’t a house, Derek!” Stiles sang happily, but he gathered his belongings and drove home with a smile on his face.

\--

And he’d done it, okay? He’d fixed Scott and Allison, so everything should be fine. Everything should be back to normal.

But it wasn’t.

Scott and Allison weren’t speaking to him.

They smiled when they saw him in passing, but it was a tight smile, a fake smile, reserved for people whose name you knew, but that you weren’t really friends with.

They all still sat together, at lunch, but Scott and Allison made sure to sit as far away from Stiles as possible.

And, okay. That was okay. Stiles could be okay with that. There was residual weirdness. It was a thing that happened. Fact of life. It’d blow over, obviously.

Except one day, about a week later, they were all sitting at lunch, Stiles talking to Lydia about a history project, Allison and Scott tucked away in their second honeymoon bubble, when Jackson looked Stiles dead in the face and said,

“So, I hear you’re a slut for werewolf knots.”

The whole table froze.

Scott looked up at Stiles, at Jackson, but then he lowered his head again. Allison didn’t meet his eyes at all. Lydia was still, the rage coming off her was palpable, but she didn’t say anything.

No one _said_ anything.

“Not a funny joke, man.” Stiles muttered, hoping Jackson would understand that this one was still too close to home. It wasn’t something they could make jokes about yet. The wounds were still fresh.

Jackson, of course, did not understand that. Or he did, and was just feeling especially dickish that day, Stiles would never know.

“I’m not laughing,” he barreled on. “Finally, Stilinski’s got a marketable tool. There’s a lotta wolves around here with really hot girlfriends and no desire to knock them up. You should charge. Hell, if you put a bag over your head even I might be willing to stick it in you.”

“Jackson,” Lydia hissed, voice shaking with anger, but Jackson just laughed.

“Isaac doesn’t have anybody at the moment. Neither does Derek. But maybe that’s not what you want. Maybe you know you’re too useless to be in a real relationship with anyone, so you wait around for sloppy seconds. I’m sure Boyd doesn’t want to get Erica pregnant. Maybe you should go sniff around them.”

And Stiles didn’t have a witty comeback, he was too busy looking around the table, at his _friends_ , these people he’d risked his life for, who didn’t have anything to say. Wouldn’t even look at him.

He opened his mouth anyway, hard wired to say _something_ when Jackson started being an asshole, but all that came out was a mumbled, “I’m gonna go.”

His eyes were blurry with tears, but he managed to hold it together. Out of the cafeteria, down the hallway to the history wing, hang a left, down, down, down, down, down, to the only boys bathroom in the school that never got used.

Locking himself in a stall, he sat down on the commode and let fat tears roll down his face.

They’d just…they’d just _let_ Jackson talk to him that way. Like they _believed_ it. That Stiles was sniffing around, looking for relationships to ruin and werewolf dicks to suck. Like he was something to be passed around when it was convenient. Not like their friend, not like someone they cared about.

He cried alone in a bathroom stall until the bell rang for lunch. Going back to class sounded like the most awful thing he could possibly do, but he slunk into AP Chemistry anyway, and doodled in the margins of his notes until class let out.

In Econ, Stiles took his normal seat, and watched as Scott walked all the way around to the other side of the classroom to sit down. Then, once Finstock had gotten good and into his lecture, Stiles’ phone buzzed.

Scotty: _Everyone knows Jackson’s a douchebag._

It said. And Stiles just looked at it, for a long time. He almost wanted to laugh, it was bubbling there, in his throat. If he opened his mouth it might come spilling out, so he didn’t, clamped down hard with his jaw, and reread the text, hoping it’d make sense on the second pass.

Because, with all the problems, and there were many, that Stiles had with what happened at lunch, Jackson was the least of them. Stiles had been hard wired since grade school not to take a single thing out of Whittemore’s mouth seriously.

What he hadn’t been trained for, hadn’t been prepared for in any way, was for all of his friends to sit there, silent in tacit agreement, as he was called a slut.

The need to laugh faded, and Stiles found himself angry, so incredibly angry that his hands were shaking, and his breath was coming too fast. It almost felt like a panic attack but Stiles wasn’t panicked, wasn’t afraid in any way. He was furious.

In his fury, he picked his phone up and, in the middle of class, chucked it clean at Scott McCall’s head.

\--

Suspended. Which, honestly, wasn’t all that bad. It’s not like Stiles wanted to be there anyway. Two days at home might clear his head, help him figure himself out.

The call to his dad, though. That sucked.

“What the hell, kid? _Scott_? Really?! I don’t…just go home, Stiles. We’ll talk about this when I get off shift. Go _home_.”

And that was a whole whirlwind of disappointment and shame that Stiles didn’t want to deal with, just _couldn’t_ deal with right now, so he didn’t go home.

Derek’s house was quiet in the early afternoon, and he still looked sleep rumpled when he opened the door.

“This is entirely your fault, I’ll have you know,” Stiles muttered, pushing past him into the house, plopping down on the couch.

Derek grunted, but didn’t seem overly upset, sitting down on the other side of the couch. He tossed Stiles the remote.

“Got Netflix a couple weeks ago.” He murmured, rubbing a hand through his hair.

Stiles nodded and turned the TV on, flipping through shows before he settled on something. It was an older show, one his dad liked, and he’d seen them all already, but it made good background noise while he sulked.

“Erica told me what happened at school…” Derek said eventually.

Stiles snorted. “Which part?”

“The whole thing I think? What Jackson said, the thing with Scott.”

“Did she mention the fact that no one said anything? That no one did anything?”

Derek nodded.

“Is that a werewolf thing, or…”

He shook his head. “I think it’s just a teenager thing, Stiles.”

“A teenager thing?! I…we kill monsters! We…” Stiles flailed meaningfully, collapsing back on the couch.

“You’re right. All of you deal with unbelievable things, face ridiculous odds, every day. But you’re still kids, Stiles. And sometimes you do childish things. It’s not always convenient.”

Stiles huffed, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Derek seemed nervous, fidgety, almost.

“Polyamory isn’t uncommon in werewolf packs,” he blurted out a few minutes later.

“What?”

“Packs, it’s all structure and hierarchy. We don’t really pay that much attention to specific romantic attachments. We’re all attached.” Derek mumbled, he sounded smug, but he was wringing his hands in his lap, and he couldn’t meet Stiles’ eyes. No one could meet Stiles’ eyes.

He scoffed. “I gotta go. I don’t wanna be here when the pound puppies get back.”

“Stiles,” Derek reached out and grabbed Stiles’ wrist. “It’ll blow over, okay? Just…give it some time.”

“Sure,” Stiles muttered, letting himself out quietly.

\--

The cruiser was in the driveway when he got home.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, climbing out of the cab.

The Sheriff was pacing just inside the door. He rounded on Stiles as soon as he had both feet inside.

“You thought this was a good idea? You…attacked Scott, got yourself suspended from school, and then you what? Drove around? Played hooky for the afternoon?”

“You weren’t supposed to be here until seven.”

“ _That’s_ what you think is relevant in this situation? I told you to come straight home, Stiles. Where were you?!”

 _At a suspected murderer’s house_ didn’t seem like a good idea to say. His dad knew about werewolves now, but was still wary about Derek.

“I just….drove around. Blew off some steam.”

“You’re lying, Stiles! You’re lying right now! Parrish saw the Jeep parked at Hales. I don’t get this. What’s going on with you?”

“I…can you just punish me? Or something? This is….Dad this is one of those stupid teenage things that I’m not going to talk about and you’re not going to understand. So can we just…get on with it?”

“Get on with…yeah. We can get on with it. Give me your keys.” He held out his hand expectantly.

Stiles just nodded and handed them to him.

“Cell phone, too.”

“I…Dad…” Stiles sputtered for a moment, but eventually he put the phone into his father’s outstretched hand.

His dad looked down at the cell phone, then back up at his son. “Stiles,” he sighed, “you know…you can talk to me about _anything_.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah, dad. Yeah, I know. Can I just…I’ll go to my room now.”

The sheriff nodded, hand pinching the bridge of his nose.

\--

Voluntarily, Stiles extended his punishment to his laptop as well, he stayed away from it entirely as he flopped down on his bed. Hands crossed over his stomach, he picked out patterns in the ceiling, forcibly thinking about anything other than the day he’d had.

He wasn’t really surprised when his window slid open a few minutes later. It was just like Derek to come check on him in the most stalkerish way humanly (werewolfly?) possible.

But when he turned on his side and saw Scott climbing through the window, Allison struggling up behind him, the anger from earlier in the day came bubbling back up his throat.

‘Get the hell out of my house,” he spat, voice low and vitriolic.

Allison flinched, and Stiles shouldn’t have been satisfied. He shouldn’t have been, but he was.

Scott threw his hands up in surrender. “We just want to talk.”

“You want to talk? You want to talk?! _Now_ you want to talk?!” His voice was rising. Loud, he thought, too loud, but he couldn’t stop. “When I was being humiliated, nobody had anything to say, but now, when there’s no one here to see you _associating_ with me, you want to talk?”

“Stiles,” Scott said, hands dropping to his sides, “I just…”

“Lydia Martin said more in my defense today than you did, Scott. Lydia fucking Martin, who spent the first fifteen years of our lives ignoring me, cared more for me in that moment than you. So you get the fuck out of my house.”

He heard his dad on the stairs, knew he was hovering outside of the door, trying to get as much information as he could, the consummate cop.

“ _Stiles_ , you’ve gotta understand,” Allison started. Stiles whirled on her.

“And _you_ , with your _bright ideas_ ,” he hissed, taking a step in her direction-

And then Scott was between them, all gold eyes and fangs, growling.

His dad was through the door, hand on his gun, face a mask of confusion because Stiles was laughing.

“There it is. There’s where your loyalties lie.”

Scott shifted back, guilty. “I’m not going to let you hurt her, Stiles.”

“And what about me? How many people get to hurt me?”

Scott opened his mouth, then closed it again, and Stiles had never felt more empty in his life.

“It’s time for you two to go.” The sheriff said, firm.

Scott and Allison nodded. They shuffled past the sheriff and down the stairs, not even daring to look at Stiles again on the way out.

His dad just stood there, arms crossed, until he heard the door close behind them.

“Are you hurt?”

Stile scoffed. He had never been more hurt. “No.”

“What do you need, Stiles?”

“Space. Just…just a little space, and they keep…I didn’t ask them to come here, okay? I don’t want them here. I just want to be grounded.” He flopped back on his bed, miserable.

“I’m making a run. I’ll be back in an hour. Do not leave this house.”

“You’ve got my keys.”

“Yeah, I also didn’t raise a stupid kid. Dumb as a box of rocks sometimes, but not stupid. Stay in the house, Stiles.”

“Yes, sir.”

\--

He came back with a small glass jar full of dark powder.

“The vet says you’ll know what to do with it?” The Sheriff asked, holding the jar between two fingers, as if he was afraid of it.

Stiles sighed. “Yeah. I know what to do with it. They’re not going to like it, though. Not at all.”

His father shrugged and set the jar down on Stiles’ desk. “I don’t care what they like. This is your house. And you deserve some peace here. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I understand needing space to work yourself out. And if that’s what you need, I’m going to make sure you get it.”

Stiles nodded. “Thanks dad,” he muttered.

The Sheriff shrugged. “I’ve gotta go back to work. I’ve got a half shift to cover the time I missed this afternoon. Is there anything I need to know about that stuff?”

“Nah. Harmless to you.”

With a final nod, John exited the room.

Sighing, Stiles rose, and spread a thin line of mountain ash over all the entrances and windowsills.

When it was done, he flopped on the downstairs couch and clicked on the TV. He was two episodes into a House Hunters Marathon before he realized he was relieved. That maybe cutting Scott McCall out of his life for a little while was a good thing. Even if it felt like betrayal.

\--

“Stiles you’re going to have to tell me what the hell is going on,” his dad said, storming into the house the following afternoon.

“I…what are you talking about?” Stiles asked, startled from his blanket caccoon on the couch.

“I need you to explain to me why I had to put Scott in _handcuffs_ today for assaulting Jackson Whittemore.”

Stiles stared. Fondness and fury were warring in his chest. On the one hand, his best friend had come to his defense. On the other hand, where was this _yesterday?_ Leave it to Scott to have the worst timing.

“I…is everybody okay?”

John threw his arms up. “Of course they’re okay. They’re werewolves. Whittemore’s father wants to press charges but cant because there’s no evidence Scott even touched him. And of course there’s no witnesses, because the other werewolves were the only people around. But Vernon Boyd, who I’d never even heard speak before today, suggested that maybe cuffing Scott and putting him in the back of a cop car for a little while might be the best way to deescalate the situation, since I was already there.”

“I’m…” Stiles was trying not to grin. It didn’t seem like the best course of action given his father’s obvious exasperation.

“Explain, Stiles.”

“It’s nothing, dad. It’s nothing. Jackson said something really messed up yesterday. I don’t want to talk about it. And Scott didn’t help me. And I was angry, so I threw the phone at him, I knew he’d be _fine_ , but that’s no excuse. And I guess today he stood up for me. Which is awesome.”

The sheriff glared.

“And incredibly misguided. But that’s Scott, isn’t it? Awesome and incredibly misguided. Come on, Dad.”

“I’m going back to work.” He said, turning to leave the house.

“Bye dad! Stay safe, eat healthy! Get the bad guys!”

When he’d heard the cruiser leave the driveway, he jogged upstairs.

He was smiling as he broke the mountain ash line on his window.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://bitterluv.tumblr.com)


End file.
